Chapter 39 SOMETHING IS OFF
••Luciana••
“Roman, I’m truly sorry,” I started, my words spilling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to hold you up from getting back to Russia. Your responsibilities, your father, all of it. I—”
I hesitated.
The apology suddenly felt too small for the weight sitting in my chest. I had rehearsed it in my head more than once, imagining different reactions, none of which prepared me for what I was facing now.
Roman wasn’t paying attention. He leaned casually against the counter, a cigar dangling from his fingers and a lazy grin playing on his lips—one that suggested he was enjoying this far too much.
It irritated me instantly. That look. As if my words were background noise to his amusement.
“What’s so amusing?” I asked, irritation slipping into my tone before I could rein it in.
“Just thinking,” he said calmly, smoke curling around his face. “That the person who didn’t matter before is suddenly very important now.”
My heart raced. Why was he bringing this up now of all times?
The air felt tighter, like the room had subtly shifted against me.
“That was different,” I retorted quickly. “We were in a different place then.”
He chuckled, not softly or kindly, but with a deep, resonant sound that filled the room.
“And I was a problem that needed fixing back then,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended.
The words escaped before I could soften them, carrying the weight of every unspoken thought I had buried since then.
He said nothing in response.
Taking another drag from his cigar, he raised his glass and swallowed the whiskey slowly.
My eyes betrayed my intentions. They couldn't help but track the movement of his throat, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with each swallow. I despised myself for noticing it. I hated that my heartbeat quickened before my pride had a chance to take control.
I shifted slightly, crossing my arms, as if that could shield me from my own reaction.
An uneasy silence hung in the air between us—neither comfortable nor awkward, but electric.
It felt like standing too close to an exposed wire, knowing one wrong move could shock both of us.
“Are you finished?” he asked unexpectedly.
I blinked, taken aback. “Finished with what?”
“Eye-fucking me,” he stated with a teasing tone.
The bluntness hit me square in the chest.
Heat rush through my cheeks. “I wasn’t—”
“It’s all good, princess,” he cut in with a smirk, clearly amused. “We could hop in the shower together if you'd prefer a better view.”
My breath caught for half a second before annoyance surged to cover it.
“What?” I scoffed in disbelief. “Don’t even think about it.”
He rose to his full height, that infuriating grin still plastered on his face. “I wasn’t the one staring,” he chuckled as he made his way toward the bathroom.
His presence filled the space as he passed me, close enough that I caught the faint scent of smoke and whiskey clinging to him.
With the door closing behind him, I was left to grapple with my thoughts and the rapid betrayal of my own heartbeat.
I stood there longer than I should have, listening to the muffled sounds beyond the door, hating myself for caring at all.
\----
The next three days drifted by in a calm haze. I took my time unpacking my belongings, piece by piece. My slowness wasn’t due to a lack of help—I could have easily asked a maid to assist, but I knew they wouldn’t organize things to my liking. Plus, folding clothes is more comforting than indulging in my thoughts. I took my time, moving at a slow pace, pausing frequently, and feigning nonchalance as I lingered over the task.
Each folded shirt felt like a small distraction, a temporary escape from everything I didn’t want to think about.
Roman was busy with his own affairs, and our encounters were scarce. When we did cross paths, it was just a quick nod or a neutral glance—no arguments or playful banter. I assumed he was busy tackling the mountain of tasks he had put off, and I certainly didn’t want to be the reason Don Lorenzo found another excuse to tear into him.
Distance felt safer.
Giving him that space felt like the right choice.
Once I finally finished unpacking, I unexpectedly felt a sense of achievement, as if I had triumphed over something much greater than just putting clothes away. I poured myself a cup of chocolate milk, climbed onto the bed, and opened my laptop.
Netflix had been waiting long enough.
As the familiar theme song filled the room, I sank back and let myself unwind for the first time in days. Just halfway through an episode, a knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” I said without looking up.
Mildred walked in, bright as always, her energy filling the room immediately. She sat beside me, craning her neck to see the screen.
“Oh, this one,” she said. “Everyone’s obsessed with it.”
“It’s the new series from that actor,” I explained. “Apparently, it’s worth the hype.”
She hummed, still watching the screen, then turned to me suddenly. “Luciana, I actually came to talk to you about something.”
I paused the episode and turned fully toward her. “What is it?”
She hesitated. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.
“Well,” she started slowly, “I don’t really know how to say this.”
I remained silent, the tension in the air thickening.
“Luci, I—”
Suddenly, she stood up, cutting me off mid-sentence. Before I could ask her anything or even process her sudden movement, she darted out of the room.
“Mildred?” I called after her, but the only response was silence.
The door glided shut behind her, leaving me in a state of shock, staring at the now-empty spot where she had just been. That was it. No explanations. No clue. Just unfinished words hanging in the air like a bad note in an otherwise perfect song.
“What just happened?” I muttered to myself.
I closed my laptop and got up, making my way to the mirror. I studied my reflection, half-expecting to see something wrong. Maybe my hair messed up, or my face stained with blood. I didn't grow horns too, there's no monster staring back at me.
So why had she run?
Confusion settled in my chest, heavy and uncomfortable. Something is definitely off.